User blog:Squibstress/Epithalamium - Chapter 16
Title: Epithalamium Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama, romance Warning/s: Explicit sexual situations; teacher-student relationship (of-age); language, violence Published: 23/05/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Sixteen “Between you and me, I don’t trust Riddle. I’ve never actually caught him out, but I’ve a feeling he doesn’t play quite fair.” “Filius, my dear friend! So good to see you!” Albus greeted Filius Flitwick with a small pat on the back and a handshake, being careful not to knock the diminutive wizard off his feet. “Thank you, Albus. Wonderful to see you again, too! And thank you for meeting me at the Apparition point,” said Flitwick. “It’s my pleasure. Shall we?” Albus asked, opening the gates to Hogwarts with a flick of his wand. As the two men walked down the path toward the castle, they fell into the kind of easy conversation that signals long friendship: enquiries and answers about favourite projects, news of mutual acquaintances, reminiscences of exploits long past. Once Flitwick was settled in the small guest quarters near the deputy’s rooms, he and Albus headed to Headmaster Dippet’s office for a drink before dinner in the Great Hall. “Flitwick! It’s a pleasure to see you again,” said Dippet, shaking the man’s hand a bit too heartily. “Thank you for agreeing to come up for the tournament. I know how busy you must be.” “Oh, it’s my pleasure, Headmaster.” “Please, I am Armando to you. Do have a seat,” Dipped said, indicating a set of club chairs near the fireplace. “Do you care for elf-made wine? I have a very fine ‘twenty-three I’ve been aching for an excuse to open.” “That would be delightful, thank you, Armando.” “I hope Albus didn’t prevail upon your friendship too heavily,” Dippet said as he opened the bottle and poured three glasses of pale-gold wine. “He can be altogether too persuasive, I find.” He winked at his deputy and distributed the drinks. “Not at all, not at all. I was afraid Albus would stop inviting me, as I’ve had to decline the past two years due to travel,” Filius said. “To our would-be champions!” said Armando, raising his glass in a toast, and the other two men followed suit. Flitwick took a sip. “I say, Armando, this wine is excellent!” “Isn’t it? One of the great perks of being Headmaster is that people tend to send extravagant gifts. And of course, Hogwarts itself has an excellent cellar of mead.” As they enjoyed the wine, they talked of the upcoming duelling match. “I’m eager to see how your top duellists are getting on; I remember a few of the third- and fourth-years I saw last time as being quite promising,” said Flitwick. “Yes,” said Armando. “Albus can tell you about it better than I, though. I’m afraid I’m not much of duelling aficionado, although I’m very proud of our club.” “Galatea is quite excited about a few of our students,” said Albus. “There is a third-year that just started with the club who she thinks will become quite a duellist when he gets a few years under his belt. Alastor Moody. Interesting lad. Promising in lots of ways, although I think he spends more time in detention than any other student at Hogwarts.” “Impulsive?” asked Flitwick, intrigued. “A bit. But to his credit, he’s been working at curbing the trait. The duelling club has been good for him in that respect. If there’s one thing Galatea stresses, it’s the importance of maintaining discipline and self-control under stressful conditions.” “Oh, very important for a duellist,” agreed Filius. “And of course, in life. And what of that intense-looking, dark-haired girl who won the last year I was here? What was her name again?” “Minerva McGonagall,” said Albus. “Ah, yes, McGonagall. Quite fierce she was, as I recall. Is she still here, or has she left?” Flitwick asked. “She’s a seventh-year and will be competing again. In fact, she won the last two championships as well,” said Albus. “Minerva McGonagall has become quite a protégée of Albus’s,” said Dippet. “He has been working with her on beginning Animagus training.” “Really, Albus?” asked Flitwick. “Isn’t she a bit young for such advanced work?” “She’s extraordinarily talented,” said Albus, not anxious to continue this line of conversation. “She’s already made excellent progress.” He hadn’t told the Headmaster just how far her training had progressed, only that it was going quite as well as they had hoped. Dippet had been understandably nervous about the project his deputy had proposed for the Head Girl, but he trusted Albus’s judgment of her magical abilities. “Be that as it may, I was quite cross with him for losing us our Gryffindor Chaser,” said Armando. “We really had a chance at the cup before she quit Quidditch in favour of Albus’s tutoring sessions.” “Now, Armando,” tutted Dumbledore, smiling nevertheless. “You’re not meant to have preferences.” “You can’t blame an old Gryffindor for harbouring a fondness for his House team,” said Dippet. “Quidditch and duelling? In addition to Animagus training? Your Miss McGonagall must be a force to be reckoned with,” said Flitwick. “Indeed,” said Albus. “Yes, and you haven’t even told Filius about the nine N.E.W.T.s she’s undertaking,” said Armando. “Nine? That’s more than even you or I did, as I recall, Albus,” said Filius. “It’s a wonder the girl hasn’t wound up at St Mungo’s with nervous exhaustion,” said the Headmaster. “She was already quite well educated when she came to Hogwarts,” Albus told his friend. “Her father is a formidable scholar himself, and, evidently, he was an excellent teacher. His son, Einar, is a third-year and is shaping up to be quite a comer too. He’s following in his father’s footsteps, spending the year on the Continent at Beauxbatons. He’s very good in your field, Filius.” “Ah, yes. Madame Leblanc is probably the finest Charms mistress in Europe,” said Flitwick. “Not to take anything away from Professor Burke, of course,” he added quickly. Albus concealed a small smile at that. He and Filius had often spoken of Herbert Burke and his poor teaching skills. Burke had secured the Charms master post under the previous Headmaster, Phineas Nigellus Black, who had given it to him as a favour to his daughter, to whom Burke was married. It was a supremely unhappy marriage, and Madam Burke had prevailed upon her father to give Herbert the post, presumably to get him out of her hair. When Headmaster Black had died somewhat unexpectedly, the newly appointed Armando Dippet had kept Burke on, largely because Burke’s estranged wife, Belvina, had many strategically placed friends, both at the Ministry and on the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Albus had confided to Filius that his first priority, were he to succeed Dippet as Headmaster—as everyone assumed he would—would be to replace Burke. What he hadn’t told Flitwick was that he intended to ask him to assume the post when the time came. The three talked of this and that until it was time to go to dinner. Headmaster Dippet introduced their esteemed guest to the assembled students, who applauded England’s Pride of 1924 heartily. Those who were unfamiliar with Flitwick’s history as a duelling champion whispered among themselves about the man’s small stature, while members of the Hogwarts Duelling Club were quick to quiet them with assurances of his prowess with a wand. ~oOo~ Saturday dawned, clear and warm, and the castle was abuzz early with activity in preparation for the weekend’s duelling contest. The Quidditch pitch was set up with two long, narrow duelling platforms; in the initial rounds, two bouts would be fought simultaneously. The platforms were canvas, charmed to make them soft on impact but firm to the step. In addition, Professors Merrythought, Burke, and Dumbledore had surrounded each platform with a series of charms designed to protect the spectators in the stands from being hit by any stray spells. The stands were decorated with the flags of all four houses. The Ministry observer, Drusilla Claymore, had arrived shortly after breakfast, and Professor Merrythought showed her around the arena as she inspected the facility to ensure it met the standards set down by the Department of Magical Games and Sports for safety and fair play. Merrythought then met with the referees to give them their assignments. Each bout would have two referees to ensure nobody favoured his or her own House unfairly. The direct-elimination round bouts would be officiated by Professor Merrythought and Master Flitwick, who were the most knowledgeable in duelling regulations, although both had been Ravenclaws, and Merrythought was the current Head of that house. The other professors and the Ministry observer would be watching each direct-elimination bout as well to ensure fairness. The student duellists were all warming up in a large, empty classroom, which appeared to be a sea of colour, thanks to the quilted vests the duellists wore, each in his or her House colours. Some were practicing wand work, while others were taking the opportunity to limber up their bodies. Minerva had done several stretching exercises, then took to a quiet corner to focus her mind. Tom Riddle watched her out of the corner of his eye. He spent his warm-up time observing his fellow duellists, refreshing his memory about weaknesses or flaws he could exploit. He was feeling quite confident. Just before ten o’clock, Professor Merrythought gathered them together in one of the team holding-tents adjoining the Quidditch pitch. She spoke to them about sportsmanship and reminded them that spells intended to seriously injure or humiliate one’s opponent were against regulations and that violators would not only lose the bout but would be subject to disciplinary action. Duelling was a serious business, she told them, and anyone who put another duellist in danger, whether through intention or through sloppy spellwork, did not belong on the piste. The group nodded gravely, and then it was time to begin. Minerva was in the first pool, paired against Slytherin Lucretia Black, another seventh-year and a good duellist. The two young women mounted the far-right platform, bowed to the officials—for this match, Professors Burke and Fancourt, the heads of Slytherin and Hufflepuff, respectively—met at the centre of the platform, bowed to each other, then turned and took their places at each end of the piste. “Wands at the ready!” cried Professor Burke, and both girls raised their wands above their heads, taking the classic duelling stance: leaning slightly forward on one bent leg, the other stretched out behind. “Begin!” Minerva knew from club practice that Lucretia tended to cast first and ask questions later, so she prepared to perform a series of blocking and evasive spells rather than attacking immediately, as she might have done with a less aggressive or less experienced opponent. Lucretia Black would not be thrown off her game by a quick and sudden offence. Minerva would wait and let Lucretia fire off a few spells, which would tire her and show Minerva what her opponent was thinking. True to form, Lucretia opened immediately with a powerful Incarcerous that Minerva was able to block handily. Lucretia continued to throw hexes and jinxes as Minerva dodged and Protego-ed, only letting through a Jelly-Legs Jinx, which sent her to the mat but gave her an excellent vantage point from which to cast a Piertotum Duro charm on her opponent’s left foot, encasing it in stone and slowing her up long enough for Minerva to end the jinx and disarm her. Minerva was perspiring lightly when she shook hands with her defeated opponent. Twenty minutes later, she was back on the piste, this time against a third-year Ravenclaw, whom she managed to blast across the platform within the first minute. She jogged down to the end of the platform to help James Dunstan to his feet and to ensure he was unharmed by her forceful hex. She had a bit of a break after that and watched the precocious Alastor Moody easily defeat his sixth-year opponent with a neatly placed Expelliarmus followed by an Avis Charm that sent a flock of small birds circling around the boy so he couldn’t retrieve his wand in time. As Moody dismounted the platform, Minerva said, “Bit showy, wasn’t it, Alastor?” “No more so than blasting Dunstan halfway to Hades,” Moody said, grinning. She smiled back at him. “I’ll see you on the piste after lunch, then. We’re up first, I believe.” “I look forward to it, McGonagall,” he answered and sauntered off. Minerva stayed to watch some of the elimination bouts, then decided to head in and have a shower and change before lunch. She removed her shoes and socks and peeled off her crimson-and-gold quilted vest, black breeches, and under-jacket, then her undergarments. She performed a quick Scourgify on her duelling costume, as she would need to put it back on after lunch. She debated washing her hair but decided in the end to leave it in the long plait she always wore when she duelled, so she wouldn’t have to redo it before the afternoon match. Lunch was a boisterous affair, with students and staff animatedly discussing and debating the various bouts, predicting winners and losers, and congratulating and consoling the duellists of their own Houses. When Minerva took her place at the Gryffindor table, she was greeted by a rousing cheer. Smiling shyly, she tucked into her cottage pie, her appetite piqued by the morning’s exercise. Another cheer arose from the Gryffindor table when its second winner of the morning, Alastor Moody, sat down. As the students began to leave the Great Hall after the meal, Minerva felt a gentle tug on her plait. She turned, about to excoriate the perpetrator, and found the wide, freckled face of Alastor Moody grinning cheekily at her. “Just wanted to wish you luck this afternoon, McGonagall,” he said. “And to you as well, Alastor.” “You’ll need it more than me.” His grin widened as her lips narrowed at him. ~oOo~ Minerva was having a grand time. She and Moody had been duelling for more than seven minutes, neither gaining an advantage. The two Gryffindors were well matched for skill, which always made for a fun bout, and Minerva secretly enjoyed the gentle banter Alastor tossed about as he shot hexes and dodged jinxes. “‘S that the best Scotland’s got?” he jeered as he barely deflected a Sponge-Knees Jinx. “Try a taste of Ireland!” A blast from his wand sent an enormous Irish flag hurtling toward Minerva, who dropped to the mat and rolled under it, firing a Trip Jinx at her opponent for good measure. To her surprise, Moody hit the mat with a thud, giving her an opening. She fired an Incarcerous, hoping to ensnare Alastor before he could recover, but he was quick to Vanish the ropes that licked at him from the end of her wand. “Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled ...” he sang as he sprang to his feet, firing a Fixing Charm at Minerva, sticking the seat of her breeches firmly to the mat. “You’ve such a bonnie voice, Alastor. But can ye can dance, too? Tarantellegra!” Moody’s legs began a spasmodic, jerking dance, requiring him to cast a quick Finite to end the hex. Minerva had already released herself from the Fixing Jinx and managed to get off a quick disarming spell, which deprived Moody of his wand. According to All-England duelling rules, once a competitor was disarmed, he or she would have five seconds in which to retrieve his or her wand before the bout was called. Moody had his “Accio” halfway out of his mouth when Minerva hit him with a lightning-fast Langlock Jinx, making his incantation sound like “Eeo aann!” Moody’s wand continued to lie where it had come to light at the side of the piste. “Bout to Miss McGonagall!” said Professor Fancourt after the five seconds had elapsed. Minerva went to Alastor and pointed her wand at him, saying, ”Finite.” “Thanks,” said Moody, offering Minerva his hand. “Well fought, McGonagall.” “You too, Alastor.” “Knew I should have paid better attention in Defence. Maybe I’d be able to perform wordless magic,” Moody said as they dismounted the platform. “It’s pretty advanced,” said Minerva. “You don’t usually start on it until fifth year.” “Maybe you could give me a few pointers,” said Moody with a sly grin. “Maybe you could spend some of your copious detention time on it,” she countered, smiling in spite of herself. “You wound me, lass, you wound me.” Moody placed his hand over his heart in mock distress. At dinner in the Great Hall, Headmaster Dippet announced the results of the day’s bouts, as if everyone were not already aware of them. “Congratulations to the students who will advance to tomorrow’s direct-elimination round: Miss McGonagall and Mr Moody of Gryffindor, Miss Fawcett of Hufflepuff, Miss Lovegood and Messrs Trimble and Dawlish of Ravenclaw, and Miss Black and Mr Riddle of Slytherin.” Cheers went up from each House table as their finalists were announced. “We look forward to more excellent duelling tomorrow and to crowning our school champion for 1944,” said the Headmaster. Tom Riddle quickly struck off Fawcett, Trimble, Dawlish, and Lovegood in his mind. Any of them would be easy to pick off. Lucretia Black was good, but he wasn’t worried about her either. Moody—he could be a wild card. There was no denying that the third-year Gryffindor was a talented duellist. Very talented, in fact. But he was impetuous, a fact that Tom could easily take advantage of. There was no question in Tom Riddle’s mind that he and Minerva McGonagall would face one another in the final bout. ~oOo~ The first bout of Sunday morning went exactly as Tom had predicted. He felled Reginald Dawlish with a well-placed Incarcerous within three minutes. Soon after, Maura Lovegood fell to Alastor Moody, then Marius Trimble defeated Lucretia Black. Minerva’s bout against Terry Fawcett ended with her swift victory. Tom’s next bout was not so easy, and he almost lost it to Moody. Six minutes in, the young Gryffindor caught him with a Conjunctivitis Curse before he could block it, blurring his vision. A lucky guess helped him dodge in the correct direction, out of the way of Moody’s Expelliarmus. He recovered and bested Moody with a Petrificus Totalus that caught him in the right leg. So much for Moody, he thought. Minerva’s heart fell when Alastor did. His defeat meant that if she beat Trimble in the upcoming bout, she and Tom Riddle would face off in the final. She had hoped it would not be him, but there was nothing for it but to do her best, as she always did. Marius Trimble was soon dispatched, leaving the supporters of Gryffindor and Slytherin breathless with excitement. The two rival houses had not faced one another in a final duelling match in five years, and the Slytherins were especially anxious to see that prig McGonagall lose her crown to their own Tom Riddle. There was to be a short break before the final bout, to allow the finalists to rest before facing off, and each went to sit for a few minutes with their defeated teammates in the team holding-tents. “Congratulations, Minerva,” said Alastor when she strode into the tent. He Summoned a glass, filled it with an Aguamenti, and handed it to Minerva. “Thank you.” She took the glass and drank deeply. “I was really hoping it would be you and me in the final,” she said when she had drained the glass. “That makes two of us,” said Moody, getting nods of agreement from the other Gryffindor duellists. His voice dropped low. “Between you and me, I don’t trust Riddle. I’ve never actually caught him out, but I’ve a feeling he doesn’t play quite fair.” Minerva nodded but said nothing. Moody gestured her over to a corner of the tent. When they were more or less out of earshot of the other students, he said, “It’s none of my business, Minerva, and maybe you’ll box me ears for it, but I notice things, and I don’t like the way Riddle looks at you.” She was about to speak when he interrupted: “I know he’s the school hero an’ all, but ... just be careful around him, is all I’m sayin.’ Just a bit o’ brotherly advice, since Einar isn’t here to give it.” “I will. Thank you for your concern, little brother Alastor.” Her smile received one of his cockeyed grins in return. Alastor winked at her as they parted, and she shook her head. He was entirely too self-confident and cheeky for a fourteen-year-old, but he was also honest and direct, and underneath the gruffness and banter, entirely sincere. And he was nothing if not observant. ← Back to Chapter 15 On to Chapter 17→ Category:Chapters of Epithalamium